Italy's Fears
by Snow-Across-Time
Summary: After a difficult meeting, England reassures Italy that he doesn't need to worry. Pre-relationship EngIta


**So this is a story to go with my other fic "They Talked," but both can be read and understood separately. Honestly I started these both at the same time, but for some reason this one took a lot longer to finish; oh well, it's done now.**

**I don't own any rights to Hetalia.**

The meeting hadn't gone well. Things had been tense between countries since the end of the second world war, and it was difficult to get much work done when so many of them couldn't work together. Some nations got into shouting matches the minute they laid eyes on each other, and others refused to speak at all. Needless to say, England was extremely relieved when the conference was dismissed.

England was collecting his things together and glanced over to see Italy still sitting at the table. Everyone else had left the meeting already, eager to escape the tension, but Italy hadn't moved since the meeting had ended. The older man was a bit hesitant to leave Italy on his own without speaking to him, but Italy could take care of himself, couldn't he? The blond had just left the room when a small sniffle came from behind him.

England paused. A few seconds later, the sound repeated, louder than before. By then, England had quietly set down his things and re-entered the conference room. Italy had remained in his seat, and his head was buried in his arms on the desk, his body quivering. England slowly approached the nation, and softly placed a hand in his shoulder. Italy jolted up to look at England. His eyes were red and watery.

The two silently stared at each other for a few seconds. Then Italy flung himself onto England and began sobbing into his chest, which took him by surprise. England wrapped his arms around the younger and softly comforted him. Beyond that, he didn't know much else that could soothe the young nation, and he prayed it would work.

They stood like that for a few minutes. No one else entered the room; it was just the two of them. Italy's cries eventually died down to sniffles, and England decided to press the issue. Whatever was upsetting the Italian needed to be taken care of.

"Italy," he said softly. The darker haired man whimpered softly but didn't pull away from England's shirt. England hesitated, then raised a hand and started to stroke Italy's hair. "Italy, are you all right?"

At that, Italy tensed and pulled away from England, quickly rubbing at his tears. England briefly wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, but then Italy put on a smile.

"I-I'm great, England, don't worry!" He said, still smiling, but England felt that something was off. "I just overreacted over something at the meeting! Probably because everyone was yelling and being really loud. But it's nothing to worry about, I promise!"

Italy looked very unsure of himself, and England didn't believe him. He grabbed Italy's arm when he began to walk towards the door. The shorter tried to pull his arm away with a weak tug, but England refused to let go.

"Italy, you and I both know that isn't true. I would like nothing more than to help with whatever problem is on your mind right now, but I can't do that unless you tell me about it," England pleaded.

Italy looked back at England. The Brit could see reluctance in the honey brown eyes, and he wondered why Italy was acting so closed off. Usually Italy was upfront with his emotions, and if he was upset he would make himself heard. For him to try and hide his tears was something new to England. And thinking on it a little more, England realized that Italy must have a serious worry for him to mask his emotions, so demanding the Italian to talk about it probably wasn't the kindest way to fix the issue.

"Agh, Italy that's..." He began, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you in any way. But I'm concerned about you. If you want to talk, then I'll listen. Just..."

England was interrupted again by Italy, who had suddenly hugged him. The older nation returned the younger's gesture. Italy didn't cry this time, but didn't say a word either. England began to stroke Italy's hair to reassure him, and Italy finally spoke.

"England?" Italy said quietly, pulling away and playing with his hands.

"Hmm?" He replied.

"I... I can talk about it if you, um, if you want..."

"I'm more than willing to hear it," replied the Brit.

"It's just... I've felt so useless for a while now because everyone else is angry and stressed and there's nothing I can do about it, even though I want to. And I'm scared that Germany and Fratello and Japan and everyone else hate me, because whenever I try to cheer them up they always tell me to go away. And I'm worried _you_ hate me because whenever I talk to you, you sometimes look very confused, and also you yell at the other nations and I'm scared that you're only pretending to be my friend and you really hate it when I get excited about something because I'm really annoying and loud–"

Italy's voice had been increasing in volume and intensity, so he stopped and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. England took the chance to speak.

"Italy, everyone's stressed right now, and you know why. Everyone's waiting for one of those two idiots to finally crack, and we're all dreading the day it happens. But just because everyone's tense doesn't mean they suddenly don't like you. They're trying to find a solution, and they need some room to be able to do so is all." England paused momentarily.

"As for me, I couldn't possibly hate you. I'm not the type to pretend to like people, and I'm certainly not pretending to like you; it's… it's genuine. And why shouldn't it be? You always manage to cheer me up when I'm not feeling my best, and I really appreciate it," England laughed, "even if I sometimes can't comprehend a word you're saying. But you're so cheerful that your smile becomes contagious, and I start smiling too. I get happy when you come and chat with me, and that's for several reasons, but there's one main one. You're my friend."

Italy gasped softly. "Friend?!" His sad expression gave way to a huge grin. "Then we should go somewhere! Let's go get ice cream, England!" With that, the Italian took England's hand and pulled him out of the room, towards the exit.

England chuckled. "Glad he's back," he thought.

**Thanks for reading!**


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